


Fire Emblem x Reader Imagines

by omi_writings



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Comedy, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More characters to be added later, Multi, One Shot, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-05-06 20:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14655420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omi_writings/pseuds/omi_writings
Summary: A collection of Fire Emblem x Readers from my imagine blog!Will contain imagines for: Awakening, Fates and Heroes as they are the only games I have played so far





	1. Luck (Alfonse x Reader)

Alfonse wasn’t quite sure how he ended up in this situation

One second, he’s walking the past the gardens on a particularly clear-skied afternoon, getting ready for another long night of research in the library. The next, he hears his name being called by the summoner, beckoning him to join them in laying down. And the next, he’s lying on his back in the grass, red-faced as the summoner rests against their shoulder.

You should be working, his brain is screaming, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. Your small body is moving closer to his, eyes shutting as you nuzzle into his shoulder and the only thing that stops is heart as it stutters to a halt in his chest, his breath as it catches on a million words he’s left unsaid.

When was the last time he’d done relaxed like this? With another person, no less? You fit into his side so perfectly it’s hard for him to believe there was a time when you weren’t holding him so close. Even through cloth, he can feel their touch burning his skin, warming his entire being.

How do you do this to him, he wonders? Every barrier, every promise to himself to never get involved. Without even trying you broke them all, offering affection and support with gentle kindness and love he’d long since forgotten existed. A simple touch of your fingers, his name on your lips and he’s unwound.

“Y/N…” Your name leaves his lips like a prayer, and you hum in response, face pressed into his shoulder. What is there to say? Could he even begin to verbalize what he felt? Nothing would do it justice, and just as he’s ready to give up speaking altogether he feels your fingers moving. Tracing across his body, where his armour would have been. Across tensed muscles and scarred skin, with the touch of an angel.

“Thank you.” He breathes out in reverence, barely registering his movements as he rolls onto his side, an arm slipping around your back. You waste no time in pressing your face into his chest, nuzzling him a little.

“For what?” You mumble back, laughing a little as your eyes peek up, staring into his. Such bright eyes. He feels his words leave him for a few seconds before the courage fills him once more, breaking yet another barrier down as everything he’s ever wanted to say spilt forward.

“You’re always so good to me. I feel I don’t deserve it sometimes, but you’re always there with the right words,” He breathes out, and it’s there that his words become jumbled. “Saying nice things, and kindness and- you’re-I-” Nerves and drowsiness take his words from him, red painting his cheeks as your giggles grow. A heavenly sound upon his ears, in spite of what had just happened.

“Sounds like I’m not doing enough.” Confusion takes him, as you pull your face out of his chest, shifting till your forehead pressed against his. Your breath fanned on his face, lips only centimetres away. A soft whimper arose from his throat.

“You deserve the world, Alfonse. Not that you could ever take it, you’re too sweet for that.” Another laugh and he’s turned deeper shade, utterly mesmerized.

“I can’t give you that, so I plan on giving you all that I can. Which isn’t a lot.” You finish with a joke, fingers trailing up and down his sides comfortingly. He shook his head. Not a lot? This time it was laughter from his lips that filled the air.

“It’s everything to me. You’re- You’re everything to me.” He says breathlessly, before sealing his words with a kiss.

How Alfonse had ended up in this situation, he wasn’t quite sure. The how hardly mattered when the when and now tasted so sweet.


	2. Dilemma (Sharena/F!Reader)

Sharena had never encountered an issue like this before.

The princess of Askr, with a smile bright enough to light up the entire world, that was what she was known for. Friendly, kind and immensely forgiving. In her own right, not just a ball of sunshine but the definition of the sun and it’s warmth in itself.

So why was it that that the summoner seemed to be completely impervious to her charms?

No matter how many bright words, or sweet compliments she gave, you managed to give them back tenfold, each more genuine than the last. And every time, you managed to keep an unaffected, friendly air.

It’s not that it was a competition, far from it. And it wasn’t that she wasn’t unhappy with the friendliness in each response. She simply wished that you’d pick up on the more... romantic meanings behind her words.

“Y/N, I really like how you’ve styled your hair today, it looks pretty!” She had told you that morning, and without more than a giggle, you responded to her joyfully.

“You’re crazy, this is just how my hair looks normally. I love yours, the pink at the ends! It brings out the colour in your cheeks!” A colour which was growing deeper by the second as she quickly tried to excuse herself, making another embarrassing clumsy exit in front of you.

That was a mere 4 hours ago. Now, she found herself in her room. Sitting cross-legged on her bed opposite the one person she could confide in about these sorts of things. Her brother.

“It’s never affected me before. All those awful lords and knights wanting to marry into royalty have said basically the same thing she does, but from her, it’s... different.” Sharena gave a groan of distress, flopping back into her pillows as Alfonse sighed, discarding the open book he had been half-reading while she vented.

“I think she means it more than they ever did.” He responded, leaning back in the chair at the corner of the room, regarding Sharena with a tired smile.

“But does she mean it in a... y’know...” She trailed off, and Alfonse tilted his head.

“I don’t think I do?” He responded, earning another pained groan from Sharena.

“A romantic way, Alfonse! Gods, you’re not very good at this...” She mumbled, lips nearly pulling into a smile as she saw the offended expression on her brothers face.

“What do you- Ugh, nevermind. I don’t care. If you’re so troubled by this, approach Y/N and tell her this yourself!” Alfonse snapped, offering a solution which only filled her with anxiety. Tell you how she felt? Oh no. No, no, no.

“I can’t do that! What if it goes bad! What if she laughs at me- or thinks I’m silly!” She’d begun on her nervous tyrade, but Alfonse was already at the door to her room, book back in hand and ready to leave.

“Then don’t, and let her fall in love with someone else. It’s your choice Sharena.” He gave her this last piece of advice before stepping out of the room, the sound of footsteps and the shutting door signalling his retreat.

Sharena pulled a nearby pillow onto her chest, hugging it close as she stared up at the ceiling of her room.

Have you fall in love with someone else? No, absolutely not. She couldn’t bear to see you in the arms of another hero, that would break her completely.

But to tell you? Risk ruining your friendship? She didn’t even know if you felt the same. She didn’t even know if you liked girls! That wasn’t just something she wanted to throw away, especially if it meant never getting to hear you talk to her so happily again.

A third groan, and definitely not the last left Sharena as she sat up, placing her hands over her blushing cheeks in a fruitless attempt to compose herself. She couldn’t just stay silent, she was never good at that. But she couldn’t dare to speak up.

“Oh, gods...” She sighed, dragging her hands down her face before casting a look out her window. “What am I going to do?”


	3. Strange (Platonic!Alfonse x Reader)

Alfonse wasn’t sure what he expected of the Summoner when he first heard of Commander Anna’s plan. He didn’t know if it would work, what kind of person he’d be giving such grand power to, or if that person would even be worthy of such summoning abilities.

His fears, of course, had been unwarranted, he knew that now. You were kind, and you were just. You were someone that he knew he could trust.

Even if you weren’t always someone he could understand.

“So, Grand Hero Battles are for villains then?” You’d asked a few months before, looking over the papers and instructions he’d created to help you learn all the different challenges and battles that some of the heroes would train with to face.

“Yes, basically.” He’d beamed, happy you were catching on this quickly. Your fingers flicked through the bound paper, stopping on a page as a frown took your face.

“... Do you think I could summon someone from my realm? Or encounter one in those Grand... battle things?” He’d hesitated. It made sense, he’d thought at the time. You must’ve missed your old world, heavens knew he’d miss home were he ever separated from it.

“I don’t know? Can you think of anyone?” He’d doubted it, the energy it took to pull from your world was a difficult one, along with the ritual. With so many, closer worlds and portals it was more likely any hero would be plucked from there. Not that he should say that. You already had enough to cope with.

“A... few...” You sounded far away, and distant, like you were remembering something.

“Like who?” He had inquired without thinking first and then worried that he’d pried into your personal affairs. Now he knew better.

“I’m...” You paused for a moment, the hint of a smile on your face before you’d broken out into a massive grin, failing to hold back a snort.

“... I’m trying to categorize Todd... he made Skyrim, but god, at what cost?” You were laughing as you spoke, in a way that told him that whatever you were saying was a joke. Or, supposed to be a joke.

“... Todd?” He, to this day, did not know who Todd was. Or Skyrim. Or why, exactly, you found it so hard to categorize him as hero or villain. You never really explained these things to him. And when you tried, it would only ever end in awkward confusion.

A groan of longing had left you as you looked down to the paper, the dejected deadpan look on your face taking him by surprise.

“Sometimes I forget that none of you understand any of these good, good memes I’m referencing and it’s literally more painful than any wound, physical or emotional, I’ve sustained while being here.” Trying to ignore the utter absurdity of your statement, Alfonse had pressed on. He just couldn’t begin to wrap his head around your humour.

“You don’t miss your family?” You burst into laughter, covering your mouth with your hand to stifle it for a few seconds before your expression turned serious, voice straight and sharp.

“No. Absolutely not.” A scoff fell from your lips as you’d finished off your sentence. A bad relationship with your parents? He supposed he could relate to that.

“No?” He asked once more, confirming the separation in his mind as you gave your head a definite shake.

“God no, you guys are all like a billion times better.” Alfonse had only just managed to hide the smile that forced it’s way to his lips as you continued on reading, a comfortable silence falling between you two. The lilt and joy of your tone were not lost on him, and for the first time since you’d arrived, Alfonse didn’t feel like he had to feel guilty about your presence in this world.

The second time he’d been witness to your strange sense of humour had been a few days after, in passing, while you were talking to someone else.

“It’s... it’s like a babyrealm.” Alfonse heard your horrified yet intrigued sounding voice coming from the end of the hallway he was walking, where he found you staring at Xander, a look of utter and complete confusion on your face. Xander just looked tired.

“It’s called a deeprealm.” He said with enough emphasis that told Alfonse he had explained this to you more than this one time.

“Naughty children get sent to the babyrealm to atone for their sins.” You’d responded blanky, without a touch of hesitation, forcing poor Xander to accept that you were not budging on this. They were the babyrealms now. 

He’d had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter, but not in time to stop you from noticing. Pointing past Xander with a look of glee on your face, you’d called him out there and then.

“See! Alfonse liked that! Alfonse gets me!” You’d chirped to a sighing Xander. You weren’t exactly right. He didn’t ‘get’ you then, and he certainly didn’t now. Not that it really mattered to him now.

He’d lost count of how many times you’d let your weird jokes and quips fly. The most recent one still fresh in his mind, even after he’d started making his way back to his quarters from the War Room.

“I don’t... I don’t want to spend time with Valter.” Your voice had cut through the meetings, unsure and anxious. Alfonse could hardly blame you. 

Today he, you, his sister and the commander had been discussing who to focus on with training. And with the new arrival of Valter, he needed to spend time with you, as the summoner. This would not have been a problem, were the guy not a massive creep.

“Why not?” Anna, who had spent nearly no time with the man had asked. Alfonse nearly answered, but not as quick as you.

“I like- I look at him and my eyes go to hell.” You explained straight-faced to a nodding Anna, who had by now gotten used to these outbursts. Alfonse again fought back a smile, turning to address you.

“He’s... bad.” Alfonse had said, and you’d given him a nod. When he’d started to... translate? Yes, translate. When he’d started to translate your humour, he did not know. A year of time spent together had certainly impacted that.

“Very bad.” You’d responded, giving him a relieved smile. “I’d much rather he train with Arvis, if that’s okay?”

Alfonse tuned out Anna’s reply, already knowing that she’d agree. If it meant keeping their Summoner happy, they’d all agree.

Time passes quick from there, and no sooner was he walking in, the prince was out of the war room, walking down the marbled white corridors of the castle he called home. He would have appreciated the tranquility of it all, was there not the distinct sound of footsteps getting louder behind him.

“Hey!” You chirped, coming up beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. In the past, that physical affection may have caused him to recoil. But not anymore. He welcomed his friends grip happily, leaning in just a little to your touch.

“Hello, Summoner. Is something wrong?” There’s no sign of strife on your face. No, only bright eyes and a smile as you shake your head.

“No, I just want to say thanks.” You say, and he’s confused. Tilting his head a little as you speak. Thank you? For what he said earlier today?

“About Valter?” He asks and you shrug and give a so-so movement with your hands.

“Well, yeah but like- everything else as well.” You say, and he blinks.

“Everything else?” He asks, and your eyes light up again.

“Yeah! This- everything that happens here is amazing. The adventures, and magic- and the people. You put up with my bullshit-” He cannot hide the disgust on his face as you use such cruel language, but you only laugh it off.

“You’re- you’re a good friend, is what I’m trying to say. My best friend, honestly.” You tell him, patting him on the shoulder as he freezes up.

“Best friend?” He asks, feeling the nicest warmth bloom in his chest as you nod in confirmation. Best friends. He liked the sound of that.

“You’re strange.” You say with a laugh as he stays quiet, grinning to brightly to care that you’re laughing at his expression. Instead, he keeps walking, keeping pace with you as he rolls his eyes, allowing you just this once, to link your arm with his.

“Well, that makes two of us.”


	4. Voice (Shigure x Reader)

If there was one thing you missed about your homeworld, it had to be music.

Truly, Askr was beautiful. It’s every white-capped mountain and grassy green knolls healed your heart after each battle, the eyesores of war taking its toll inside your head. Its warm air in the midday hugged your skin like the hug of a doting mother, and near midnight as it turned refreshingly cool like a gentle stream of water, you found you enjoyed it much the same.

But your ears were often overwhelmed by cries and piercing voices. Alfonse, calling you to another war room meeting. Yelling and shouting down halls and outside in the grounds near the training tower that tell your heavy heart another fight between heroes has broken out. And at night, as you try to sleep the words of your less kind allies haunt your mind, and the cries of those you’d cut down in a fight you were neither built nor made for.

Music was some wonderful solace back home. As you hunched over your desk with a sore back, typing up words for another droning essay it would guide you through every letter. When you lay awake at night with your thoughts having dragged your mind to a brutal consciousness, it was music that lulled you to sleep, and at the very least gave you something to hang onto as you waited for the first rays of sunlight to peek through your blinds. Those times where your biggest issue was hoping and praying your weekly budget would allow for a morning coffee and a muffin just this once.

You missed those times just as bad as you missed the music. It was not just the music itself, but the availability of it. How often you could listen to it, at what volume, however many times. How you could switch artists and genres depending on your mood or step. Out on walks, or sitting in your home staring out the window at trees and cars and life moving by.

You had your phone here in this world, along with your wallet and a pair of headphones. It had been in your back jean-pocket, stuffed away, waiting for a text from your friend as you got ready to go on a walk around your street. That was seconds before you’d arrived in Askr, in a puffa jacket and a pair of jeans, going from your bedroom to a cliffside scene, standing bewildered and frightened in front of 3 people who looked like they were plucked right out of an anime and plopped right in your path.

Your phone came with you everywhere you went, safe in a pocket in your cloak. It was long dead, and with no way to charge it you knew you wouldn’t be seeing that screen light up with your background image, the time and your pedometer app on the front any time soon.

The time it was alive you managed to work out some things. That there was absolutely no cell connection here, unsurprisingly. That every single person who saw it while it was powered thought it to be your own personal magic weapon, like some kind of tome. Or they thought it was cursed device that kept you entranced after every meeting during your first few weeks of desperately trying to conserve it’s energy.

Oh, how you cried when it finally died. Mid-song as you were humming along. Like a penny dropping, it was what brought you to the harsh reality of your new life. Like a gut-punch that sent you to a curled up, sobbing mess on the stairs to the foyer, Sharena’s arms wrapped around your shoulders in a desperate attempt to give comfort that, no matter how many times she whispered kind words into your ears, never came.

The technology was different here, in Askr. There was no charger for your phone, no headphones that you could plug into and drift away with. If you wanted music it had to be live, and as beautiful as it was, it was nothing like what you were used to. EDM blasting in clubs you walked by on a late night in the streets, hard rock and metal playing on full volume from someone else’s headphones 2 seats down from you on the bus, an elderly man, smiling with his bagpipes as he played heartily near the city centre by the mall on a busy day.

Here music was all by bards, and it could not be recorded. No rap, no pop. Just one singer and a lute, or an instrument of the like. And yes it was beautiful and enchanting and often magical in a literal sense with its powers. But it simply was not the same. And you’d still find yourself yearning for the songs and artists to dear to your heart to grace your ears once again.

“Do you have a favourite song?” You’d asked Shigure one day, while you and he were making the rounds in the outskirts of the castle. It was out of the blue, cracking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two.

He’d become a welcome presence in your life from the moment he was summoned. Soft-spoken and gentle, you felt a comfort by his side that wasn’t so easily found with your more exuberant of companions. You were not drained of energy whenever you talked, and felt no pull in your heart driving you to hide in your room. Indeed you could talk for hours with him.

Or, at him, rather, as he seemed quite content to often ask you questions as prompts for you to ramble away. Something you were eager to twist around today.

“A favourite song? Hm…” He’d hesitated for a moment, but then again he always did. For someone so bold on the stage, he did falter when it came to discussion. So incredibly quiet, so quick to shy away from talk or touch alike. The sweep of blue hair that covered his eye moved like water as he turned his head, stopping to lean against a block of marble in the field you’d traversed.

You walked these ruins with him more times than you could remember or count. Not an hour or twos walk from the Askran palace, you were quick to show him the place that you’d stumbled upon when he’d expressed his wish for a private place to sing.

And oh, how he sang. So happily in your presence so long as it was your presence alone. For a moment you could shut your eyes and hang onto his voice, and you could let all your troubles float swiftly away.

“It would have to be the song my mother would sing to me as a child. There’s no question about it, there’s nothing quite like it.” You knew the one. The one Azura would sing in the halls when she thought no one would hear. Silly when you considered the acoustics of the cathedral-like architecture of the palace where you did reside.

“Do you have a favourite song?” You paused to consider the question, but it’s very short. Looking down at the long grass that swept around your ankles, you let your mind wander before looking back up at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Oh, gosh. Hundreds, I… I really miss music from my old world.” It was quite silly, honestly. Most everyone here had been plucked from their lives just as you had. By your own hand, nonetheless. You expected most people to be resentful. Hell, a part of you wanted them to feel resentful so you could find a good reason for the painful guilt that haunted your chest and clouded your mind. But no one ever did. Everyone was just so… understanding.

Somehow that just made you feel worse.

“Is it very different to what you’ve found here?” Melodic and gentle, you let Shigure’s voice pull you back into reality, blinking a little as his words slowly went through your mind, constructing a quick response.

“Yes! Well, and no.” You stumbled on your words, watching the small smile that grew on his face, sending your stomach into a knot. Everyone here was beautiful. Ethereally and hauntingly so, but there was just something about Shigure’s smile that affected you all the more.

“Well, uh. Where I come from music can be recorded and played at any time. Bands or solo singers or even people without training can record it. And there are so many different styles.” You try your best not to overshare, but you’d be a liar were you to claim this subject did not bring you joy. Talking about your world to someone else was like acknowledging that it still existed, somewhere out in the cosmos and alternate dimensions. It’s familiarity left you warm inside.

“Many styles? Well, what kind of music do you like?” His head tilts and his hair moves again like the waves of the ocean, sending restless, flustered energy through your nerves. It’s now you realize that the conversation will be one of depth, and as such, take a seat on a marble lump, with him swiftly and gracefully sitting beside you.

“Uh, I guess my tastes are what you’d call indie, or alternative. Though I have favourite songs from tons of genres.” You explain, hoping you’re not boring him with the subject. Shigure loved music, and he clearly enjoyed talking to you, but still, that ever-present fear of being found annoying settled itself inside you and made itself known.

“What about a favourite singer?” He asks, staring on with calm and curious eyes that knot your stomach even more, as you try to remember how to sound out syllables, let alone answer his complex question.

“I, Uh well I- Um, I like Florence Welch? I… I think you’d like her music. She’s on nearly every playlist on my phone, and her songs are beautiful and mournful… really gorgeous.” Right up his alley, you figured, though it seemed Shigure had locked onto

“Your ‘phone’?” Right. He would have no idea about it. Most of the heroes you had in your army right now weren’t here for that first week, nearly over a year ago. You raised a ringer, dipping your hand into your pocket before pulling it out, still wrapped in your white headphone. You had no idea if they still worked, and no means of trying.

“It doesn’t work because it doesn’t have power. But, yeah, this is my phone. Back home you use it for a ton of stuff, but I usually use it to listen to music. Well- Music and podcasts. I have it with me- everywhere. Along with my wallet.” You briefly flashed him the wallet, your eftpos card, credit card and other numbers of expired gift cards and ID’s inside, before it was slipped back in your pocket. Shigure looked far more interested in the phone, reaching out a hand.

“May I?” You weren’t sure why your heart rate spiked as he asked this question, nor why it sent such a desperate sense of anxiousness reeling through your body, but you had a hunch. Losing one of your last connections to your home? That would make this- living in Askr, as the summoner all very… final.

“Please be… be careful. It’s all I really have from my home.” You murmur like your very words could shatter its screen. Like sure feet, falling on sturdy ground your phone found it’s way into Shigure’s slender fingers, watching with heightened anxiety as he looked it over. The pads of his fingers sliding across the charging port, his thumb pressing the volume and on buttons a couple of times.

“This must be important to you.” He says, breaking the trance-like state that had fallen over you as you watched his hands move. Managing the slightest of smiles you nod and hum, before realizing that that wasn’t much of an answer.

“It’s a… connection type thing. I can do other things as well as listen to music, like play games or make phone calls.” Watching his brows crease as you explain using words in contexts that you knew you’d have to take the time to meticulously explain, you take a breath, glancing back down at your precious possession.

“Phone calls?” He asks, still clasping your phone gently. You tear your eyes away from it and do your best to keep eye contact, biting your lip.

“Think of it like a spell that lets you speak through the device to another person instantly. So long as the other person also has a phone, and you have their number, you can call them and hear them talk. Even if they’re on the other side of the earth.” Shigure’s features perk up, looking eyebrows raising and a smile at the edge of his mouth. Usually, you found it very difficult, and even annoying at times to explain these things in length to heroes. You were having no such reservations or negative feelings here.

“You could make a call if this were on?” The smile that pulls onto your face is not a happy one. It’s one you’ve seen on Shigure’s old face, whenever he talks about how, before reuniting with her here in Askr, his mother had disappeared.

“No, I’d need a satellite and cell tower for that. And there aren’t any of them here. But I could read over messages I’ve already received. Oh, and listen to voicemails. They’re like notes you’d leave except it’s speaking, I only have one saved.” Shigure went between watching your face and looking down at your phone, the beautiful scenery around seemed to shift around you as you talked. Grass blowing in a gentle breeze, the rustle of trees and sound of your fingers tapping on weather, broken marble.

“What was your last voicemail?” The tapping halts and you respond in an instant.

“It was my mum. She called to ask what I’d like for dinner. I was supposed to come over in a days time to stay overnight.” Pasta was what you’d said, and she promised to pick some up. Strange how something so menial and generic had become so final. It hurt your heart to think of her waiting there with the hot bowl of food. Waiting for you who would never arrive home.

“You remembered that very quickly.” His voice softens, and you give your tense shoulders a shrug and let out a half laugh-half sigh.

“I listened to it at least 10 times my first night here.” Briefly averting your gaze, you find yourself wishing you hadn’t decided to open up in this way. As much as you hated it, you needed to be stronger. Or act stronger, at the very least. The world you now resided in however beautiful, was cruel. It had shown you death and forced you to apply killing blows to many times to count. You could not afford to show this kind of vulnerability to your heroes. You couldn’t risk losing their confidence.

But you don’t see that in Shigure’s eyes when you look up. You don’t see undeserved pity, nor a loss of respect or affection. In those gorgeous yellow irises, you find nothing but empathy, goodwill and a tenderness that presses against your heart, enveloping and capturing whole.

“What… is it? What are you thinking about?” You ask, licking your lips as you realize your mouth is very dry all of the sudden. Shigure does not hesitate to speak quickly in response.

“I think… You have a great burden on your shoulders. I barely ever hear you complain, even when you go through that which would dishearten even the most courageous of people. I think you’re tired. I can see it in your eyes, and it’s not the kind of tired that a good nights sleep could fix. You’re admirable, summoner. Indeed I think my admiration for you extends beyond what you would consider normal bounds, but… you need to take time for yourself.” You find yourself breathless as he speaks, gasping silently for air as your chest compresses and you feel lightheaded. It’s worse when you realize that he’s taken one of your hands, running a finger over your knuckles in such a way that you feel like a high schooler, sitting on the outskirts of the school ground with your crush, ditching class for the first time all over again.

And then you’re suddenly thinking of home again. And the fluttering in your stomach lets up, and your chest feels tight for a whole other reason, as you once again are unable to look at anything but your phone, in one of his hands and your own hand clasped in his other.

“I… I appreciate that. I really, really do, but if I stop to think- If I’m not busy then-” You mumble your words and stumble through the sentence with the kind of dull tone that came with a melancholic heart, and he catches on. Catches you before you must continue droning and finishing the thought with a sombre five words that match your own, like the coming of a second voice in a duet.

“You think of your home?” It’s like he plucks the words from your mind, like cuttings of a rose. His words hewed your very soul, pressing into your skin as they’re brought into the air, wrapping their way around you like a flexible, thorny stem.

“Yeah.” Breath leaves you softly like a sighing willow tree, your hand still clutched tightly in his, with absolutely no sign of him ever letting go. Not a single complaint leaves your lips, on that front.

The silence between you is heavy as such, but not uncomfortable. Words escape you as your mind fails to think, whereas it seems that’s all Shigure does. Knotted between his brows is a distress you seemingly can’t place. His fingers, leaving the phone balanced on his knee, now toyed and trailed over the amulet he kept safe around his neck. One seen you’d open and free only a few times, when he dressed in his midnight performing clothes. Wrapped in all kinds of silks and lace. You were unsure of its purpose, nor it’s power, but certain in it’s worth.

“I’m… going to try something if that’s alright? I think I can help, but you can’t tell anyone about it.” The hesitance in his tone is not something you miss, nor is it something that fills you with confidence. Regardless, you can not find yourself able to deny his offer, his fingers still giving such delightful pressure in your palm and atop your knuckle.

At your nod, he stands up, and walks a short way further into the ruins, a few metres away. There’s an air about him now, one that you recognised and daren’t interrupt. It was the same air he had before a performance. Before an enchanting song or mesmerizing dance. Indeed, the whole world seems to fall silent when he opens his mouth. The birds in the distance cease their cries, the long grass pauses in it’s whispering and the wind takes a moment to stop its low howls. Like the globe had stopped turning, for just a moment, to hear him sing.

“You are the ocean’s grey waves…” In a projected whisper, you hear the same line you’d heard a hundred times before while walking the halls and visiting his room. A lyric that seemed to be the staple of both he and his mother’s life. Defining and haunting. Repeated over, and over again.

But you’d never heard it like this. You’d never heard him like this, and though its purpose still evaded you, the amulet that now glowed and floated around his neck was clearly the source of the power of the song. His voices’ strength. It’s just one line, barely even hummed, hardly even mumbled. But you still, strangely, found tears brimming in your eyes. A simultaneous great sadness and hope welling up inside of you, bringing forth a peal of laughter that you seem unable to contain.

And then the glowing stops. The amulet drops, and his shoulders slump as a gasp, not unlike a drowning sailor begging for air hits your ears as you jump to your feet, rushing to his suddenly unstable form as you take his hand and utter his name, looking down at your- your-

Your lit up phone screen, going through the companies manufacturer animation. Making a soft, bell-like noise from its earphones, still plugged in and clearly hiked up to full volume.

“It’s on.” Your voice cracks as the machine is pushed into your numb hands. You find yourself completely unable to move. Like someone had paralyzed every nerve and receptor in your body, freezing you in place like the marble which surrounded you.

“Summoner?” Distantly, like he’s yelling it to you over a river, you hear Shigure speak as you continue to look at your phone. Your phone, that you got on Christmas from your parents. Your phone that was here with you now. On, and making noise, and ready for your password to be input. On, because he had made it so.

“You turned it on.” Tear you don’t remember weeping fall from your face down the ground. You know it’s silly, you’re fully aware of how materialistic you must seem right now to him. To anyone who could have seen you, but you didn’t care. For once, you didn’t need to care.

“Summoner, are you cry-” The growing alarm in his voice is all but cut off with a soft noise as you surge forward, arms wrapping tight around his middle, your face pressed into the soft white of his clothes, and the warm expanse of his chest. Though hesitantly, his arms secure you just the same. Just as tight, as his forehead is pressed into the top of your head, your tears fighting in vain to stay within the ducts as every breath steadied you and brought you further out of your slight hysterics.

You’d have been quite happy to have stayed in his grip like that for endless days and nights. Just wither away on the spot in his arms, dying the happiest person alive. It’s his quickened breath and soft grunts have you reeling back, phone tucked safely away your hands are on his shoulders suddenly, as your eyes scanned his body, anxious and sharp.

“You’re hurt.” You lay a hand on his shirt, eyes cautious in their stare at his face. His eyelids are closed, and his breath is shallow, though you can find no open wounds. It’s even harder to attempt to find his affliction when he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as he rested his head, a hand clasped tight over your fingers.

His breath is like feathers and sunlight. Ticklish and warm, and you find yourself wanting to draw more into him, especially after such a short and gorgeous display of music. But his health came first, and seconds later, as your hands roamed his body for damage, he began to improve. Eyes open and his breath steady and even once more.

“I’m okay.” He whispers, but it’s in such a tone that you feel it utterly impossible to believe. Slipping your hands to his shoulders, you look him over once more, a lump forming in your throat.

“Sit down.” You murmur, leading him back to the chunk of marble you’d named a seat. Sitting him down, your hands do not leave his body. One resting atop his head, stroking his hair like your roommate would in the bathroom, after a long night of excess drinking. His head rests itself on the shoulder of your still standing body, your other hand rubbing his back as he slowly seemed to start recovering.

“It’s nothing, really,” His eyes meet yours, and you still find that hard to believe. Your phone wasn’t worth this kind of risk, or exhaustion. Nothing was. Still wrestling with what had just happened, you feel your hand in his hair as it’s cupped, and lifted away, held safely in his hands.

“I’m glad to have endured it to see you this happy.” Hoo boy… the shaky breath that leaves you is nor subtle nor graceful in its exit, leaving a new wave of butterflies and a fluttering heart in its wait. He was not about to charm his way out of this one.

“Shigure…” Your tone reminds you of a scornful mother. Your own mother, in fact, and he seems to think to a similar degree as he grimaces for a moment, before offering a slight smile.

“I mean it.” You have no doubt in your heart, mind or any other part of you that he does.

“Is it working?” Your eyes flicker down to the phone, which you’d set down on the marble while sitting Shigure down. A quick click of the home button brought up your lock screen, demanding a password typed in by your fingertips. Weathered and a little cracked from all the fighting you’d involved yourself in since arriving here.

“Yeah.” You whisper with a croak, tears threatening to fall as you hear him laugh gently, a hand resting itself on your cheek.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t have wanted all that to have been for nothing.” Another long silence settles itself between you as he brushes away what few tears still line your cheeks. The heavy lump in your throat is not helped by his kind gestures, nor by your worry.

“Shouldn’t you rest? Or, we could go find a healer. I’m sure that Lucius-” You start, but he shakes his head and silences you.

“I am right where I need to be.” Another shaky breath inflates your lungs, your throat burning with everything you’d been holding back. You see a light dusting of pink across his cheeks and know that you are in a similar state.

“Where you need to be… and that’s with me, is it?” You ask, as his hands remove themselves from your face, resting on his lap. Any signs that he’d been hurt, or damaged by his song were gone. He just looked like Shigure again. Peaceful, beautiful Shigure.

“I believe so.” He says, and you nod, eying up the amulet which he’d tucked up under his shirt. Just the knowledge it was there, and so close to him and his skin had you biting your lip.

“If that’s how you want it to stay, then no more using… that. I don’t know what it does to you, but… I don’t like it.” You speak very slowly, thinking hard with every word. Your eyes are not blind to the nervousness in his form, and you sigh.

“Promise me, please.”

“I thought you’d be happy.” Shaking your head, you wipe your eyes, which are still drawn to the chain around his neck.

“I am. More than words or even my emotions could show. More than I can even understand, really. But I’m a little more worried about you.” You admit, hearing him sigh in irritation. That wasn’t something that happened often, which normally would have made you back off. But not today.

“You exhaust yourself for us, every day summoner.” Weakly, in your opinion, he argues, and quickly, you offer your rebuttal.

“That doesn’t mean you need to as well. We all have our limits and I know that whatever that… thing is, it’s pushing you too far. It’s hurting you, and whether you like it or not, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe for the time you and everyone else is here.” It’s your turn to silence him it seems as his eyes look anywhere but your face. You knew he knew you were right, and so it’s with a sigh of relief on your end, that he agrees.

“I promise you, I won’t use this around you. Not unless it is absolutely necessary.” His fingers rest atop your free hand as he concedes, and you gladly take his hand, revelling once more in the gentle touch.

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.” Your thumb runs itself over the back of his hand, back and forth repetitively. Funny how quickly you’d forgotten about the phone, still held securely in your other hand, it’s screen black again after waiting so long for your orders.

“And… if you’re so set on having me sit here to rest, I think the least you could do is play me some of your music. Just to fill the silence.” Once again you feel that sharp anxiety that had burdened you when he first asked to take your phone. And once again you push it down and away, rolling your shoulders back as you let out a long breath.

“You’ve never been one for talking.” Your voice is a murmured giggle, meeting his rolling eyes with a nod and a smile.

“Okay, just… don’t make fun of any of them.” You tell him with a grumble, taking your hand from his as you open up Spotify. Your premium had most certainly had to have run out by now, but without internet or any form of connection, your downloaded songs were still safe in your little, digital time capsule.

“I would never. Anything dear to you is dear to me.” He says as you select the first song, pulling out your headphones and shutting your eyes as the first few notes hit your eyes like drops of water to a dehydrated tongue, humming your next words before you both fell silent for the following hours, filled with music ahead.

“And you are dear to me.”


	5. Wordsmith (Owain x Reader)

“You’re staring at him again.” Lined with amusement, the voice of Prince Alfonse fills your ears. His footsteps gone unnoticed by your senses, all too preoccupied to pay attention to anything but he who you were transfixed with, gazing at as he trained below.

“Was I?” You ask with a painful attempt at seeming nonchalant. In truth, you’d spent the past 20 minutes leaning upon the balcony railing that overlooked one of many gardens in the castle, staring down at the hero whose strange way with words had you utterly enchanted.

Most everyone called Owain weird, and they were right. He was weird. Very weird. He babbled about nonsense every time he had the chance to open his mouth, he struck poses and declared every 2nd or 3rd hero he came across in the halls as his dreaded rival, destined to meet him in a throng of battle on some bloodied-sky, end-is-nigh day, wrapped in dark shrouds or… whatever… he’d said.

Truth be told, you couldn’t understand half of the things that came from his mouth. But you’d never met a hero so very bright, and energetic. And you’d never met one so very open with his words either.

“You like the way he talks to you. Even if you don’t quite understand it.” Alfonse says, leaning beside you, resting his arms along the railing. You could feel warmth shoot through you at the casual accusation, tugging your hood a little further over your face.

“What did he say after you summoned him? Oh! ‘Not a moment has passed since our fated meeting that my thoughts have not been captured by your awe-inspiring presence! There is no doubt in my mind-”

“Alright!” You cut off the prince as he teased, pushing on his arm lightly as you passed a quick glance to make sure the Ylissean did not overhear. He, of course, did not. Too caught up in shouting extravagant nicknames for his attacks and making great flourishing movements with his blade. He looked more like a dancer than a warrior.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered.” Alfonse mused, looking back to you. You suspected he liked not being the target of you and Sharena’s merciless teasing for once. For all the stiffness and professionalism he prided himself on, he was still only human. And still happy to jump at the chance to embarrass you, especially after the incident in spring.

You were ready to shoot back a particularly scathing comment about bunny ears, when a familiar voice calling your name sent a shock up your spine, like a sudden jolt right up your sciatic nerve.

"Summoner! Oh, hero who I serve, it is with regret that I tell you your training dummies are too weak! I broke them- nay, tore them asunder with a simple sword movement!" The energetic shout caught your ears and enraptured your heart as you turned and looked over the balcony edge to see Owain, sword under his arm as he called up to you and Alfonse.  
There wasn’t much you truly understood in his words, but it was the trail of carnage that gave you a hint as to what he was trying to get across. Behind him, you found the training dummy in pieces. A sight you’d become accustomed to, after spending time training with the likes of Chrom, and Ike. Softly, air passed by your lips in a sigh, tapping your fingers anxiously against the stone railing as your body began to heat up under the attentive gaze. Waiting for you to offer a solution.

"Th-That’s, uh- Fine! Just go grab a new one from the training room, I’m fairly sure we’re getting a new order of them in soon." You stumbled your way through your words like a drunk man walks in the early hours of the morning on a cold cobbled street, waving your hand as your voice hiked up an octave halfway through your words. From beside you, Alfonse made a sigh-like noise that carried all the grievances of war, famine, pestilence and death.

“Ah, wonderous idea o’ great one!” He called back with a beaming smile that seemed to tangle up your insides. Cutting himself short for once he turned and paid his attention to the debris around him, and you breathed out in relief.

"Not. A word.” You hissed to your companion through clenched teeth. Though he seemed loath to leave the conversation there, Alfonse respected your wishes, simply nodding his head with the ghost of a smile on his face. You feel his hand pat your cloaked shoulder, and for a moment you swear you hear a soft snort of laughter before he’s gone. Departed through the archway behind you, into a stretching marble hallway leading deeper into the castle. Leaving you alone to gaze at your beloved as you had been before.

“Beloved…” You murmured, dragging a hand down your face. Now you were beginning to sound like him too. Groaning loudly, but not too loud as you watch Owain move. Cleaning up bits of wood and straw with as much enthusiasm as he had been thrusting and slicing his sword through the air. Admirable, if not a bit dorky. You could easily imagine him sputtering indignantly if you were to tell him as much.

“Oh, god.” You bemoaned, quickly banishing the sweet thought of him blushing from your mind, your hands crossing tightly over your chest as your heart hammered in your ribcage. A situation that is not helped when Owain raises a hand to show you he’s finished and leaving, waving and smiling in a way that makes your heart stutter in its pace.

“Oh god,” You repeat to yourself again, waving back a little in return as he exits the garden, leaving you completely alone to wallow in your feelings. In an instant your head is in your hands, a long and low sound of distress emanating out from inside you.

“Oh god, I’m so screwed.”


	6. Private Training (Owain x Reader)

Training with the heroes that helped you fight in this realm was always a mixed bag.

With an ever-changing roster, depending on whoever had just arrived and whoever was in need of a refresher, you often spent your time trying to get ready and organized for something that could never be prepared for.

The hero could be homesick. Volatile, belligerent, painfully shy or even just a giant, major douchebag. And you would have to pick up whatever pieces and fix up whatever needed fixing all so you could help them further themselves, and do a better job fighting with you. For you. It was hardly ever an easy task.

But you could say with honest certainty that training with Owain was always a lot of fun.

“Oh, thank god.” A breath heavily laden with relief blew out through your nose, your voice just above a murmur as you reached the steps that took you to the entrance of the training tower. Just you and him today, the rest of the team you’d set him up with There he was, his clothes bright and stark against the dark brick that marked the infernal level tower. No brighter than his hair, a mop of pale blonde that matched his mother’s in both shade and brilliance.

“Ah, Summoner! What fate for us to meet here, like this!” He called your name, looking up from Missletain, which he had been inspecting closely before you’d announced your presence.

“You mean our scheduled training?” You asked with a growing smile, your head tilting as his cheeks grew a ruddy colour. You felt tempted to mention it but held your tongue as you gazed to the gate leading into the 9th tower.

“I, ah- I am simply relieved that I’ve been given the chance to train with you,” Owain explained. Were you looking, you would have noticed his hand rubbing awkwardly at his neck, and his foot tapping anxiously against the stone path. But you were too busy trying to unlock the gates, suppressing the shyness you yourself felt in his presence.

“It’s not fate, I requested to train with you specifically. I don’t see you as often as everyone else.” With a click they opened themselves, swinging and clattering as they revealed the towers darker insides, lined with scones and torches. You really wished the Askrans hadn’t gone so hard with the interior decor, sure training was a dangerous affair but no one liked being stuck inside a dingy room for too long.

“You don’t?” You hear his curiosity laden voice and nod, stashing the key in one of your many pockets. Tipping your head to the side you briefly consider your words, before letting them spill out.

“Whenever I see you, you’re always running around telling stories to Inigo and Severa in the mornings. Or you’re running around telling stories up on the table in the mess hall at lunch. Or you’re running around telling stories to Lissa in the medical tents and the hospital wing at night,” You pause a moment, taking a glance back at him.

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask with a half smile that quickly sends him into a huff.

“Of- Of course I do! A great hero like me never takes away time from his rest!” You half expect him to stomp his foot like a toddler, biting your lip as you give him another look up and down.

“Okay, well does he have time to train?” You shoot back with crossed arms and raised brows, watching his expression turn from annoyance to near-insult.

“I am a mighty hero! And I assure you, I take no days off when it comes to bettering myself.” You’re close to believing his words, stepping inside the gates, as he himself is quick to follow you. Even with the torch scones, you still have a feeling of imminent dread drawing through you as you begin your trek down the halls into the basement, where you’d be running the first few fights.

“Riiight. So where were you last Thursday? Training session with your team? Ephraim, Camilla, Ethlyn and I waited a good 20 minutes before we realized you weren’t showing up.” It wasn’t such a big deal, and you knew you could have Owain make it up, but it was still something that needed bringing up. At least before his mildly irritated teammates did in a public setting, like in the foyer or the mess hall. You’d seen Ephraim pick fights for less.

“I- I was delayed because I was-”

“Telling stories? To Fae, Tiki and Nowi in the gardens?” Though you could hear him keeping pace behind you, as you darted further into the dark corridors, no more words left Owain’s mouth. You counted your lucky stars it was so easy to get the manaketes talking, so long as you promised a good stick, rock or some sweets.

“So that’s what we’re making up for today.” You explain, turning a quick corner and picking up the pace. There was a lot you wanted to cover, and not a lot of time. You weren’t about to have Owain fall behind, and you had no intention of wasting the limited time you got to bond with him.

You loved his stories. You genuinely did, and as happy as you would be letting him tell them with you sitting there in the audience listening aptly and intently to every word- you had a job to do. A responsibility to Askr, and to him, to help him reach his full potential.

So that is what you were dedicating yourself to do.

The next few minutes are silent as you take more twists and turns, reaching the zone where you’d be starting in, in what you considered to be good time. Like a gladiator pin with no seats, you found the battle zone. With a few pillars and crumbling walls you had set up routinely by the mages, you felt this the perfect time to try Owain against magic users, and test his use of cover and agility while you were at it.

You explained this to the hero as you sorted through your things, taking a look through the list of army conscripts who were stationed to be trained against, positioned behind another gate on the other side of the circle. From there, 1 or 2 would pop out and the battle would commence. Seemingly, he took all this information in with no complaint, and so the battles began.

There was no doubt he was strong. With your direction, he was finishing up fights with minimal damage in a matter of minutes, with you upping the difficulty at each turn. A solid 30 minutes pass by when a particularly nasty hit from a hammer sends him to the floor, and your hands in the air, halting the attack.

“Oh, jeez.” You mutter as he takes a seat beside you, the healer pulling up his shirt to show you a heavy red mark.

“That’s absolutely gonna bruise.” He hisses in pain as the healer begins their work, quickly grabbing at the towel you’d passed to wipe away his sweat.

“I recall you claiming it was only mages today?” He grunted, still in character despite the pain. You gave him a shrug in return.

“War is unpredictable, and I doubt our enemies are dumb enough to leave a mage on the frontline unprotected. If they were, we wouldn’t still be fighting this war.” ‘This war’ you say like it hasn’t been string after string of mystical conflict. Conflict with seemingly no end in sight.

Your reasoning seems good enough for Owain, and for the healer, who lets out a soft and humourless laugh before pulling Owain’s shirt back down and standing without another word. Watching them take off, you stretched, popping a few muscles in your back.

“We should take a break.” It’s an order that he’s happy to follow, both of you leaning your heads back against the cold black flagstone walls. There’s no verbal response on his end, and with the healer gone, he takes a drink of water from his canteen, and you take to moment to give him a closer look.

He’s tired, of course. Tired like anyone else would be in this sort of training situation. Sore muscles from micro-tearing and an aching head from all the orders you’d shout and receive. It had become the norm, pushing yourself to your limit, so that each time you reached it you’d be further along. Your free time taken by sleeping off wounds or planning out your next move

This is the tired you’re used to seeing, both in your reflection and walking around in the bodies of your heroes. But when you look at Owain now, the exhaustion you see is one markedly different from the one that you knew.

Because you’d trained with Owain before. You’d seen how he flings himself into battle, shouting attack names and taunts, laughing and bouncing around like a child with caffeine pumped straight into his blood.

And what you’d seen here today was nothing like that. Nothing of the sort. What you saw here was not the erratic natured boy you’d grown so fond of, but a driven young man. Near silent and focused. So focused you worried at points he was concentrating more on the slashing and cutting of his blade more than your orders. So weirdly, and forcedly focused, and decisive you wondered if the thoughts flying through his mind were indeed all that focused at all.

“Y/N?” He asks it like a question, and you find yourself shocked to hear your name so suddenly for the first time from his lips. Every other call, you find yourself addressed with grand you titles and legendary names.

You were never just ‘Y/N’.

Your tongue ran across dry lips as you watched his brow furrow, deep in thought. You don’t even answer his call before he’s speaking slowly, well thought words that hit you like a lash of a whip straight to your heart.

“Do you… Do you truly think I don’t spend enough time on my training?”

Oh.

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that-” You begin, but he’s quick to cut you off, yet slow to form his words.

“But you did. That’s what you said, that’s what you think.” Slowly. It’s a strange thing coming from him. No, you decide that is a very bad thing coming from him. It twists your stomach in the most unpleasant way, like a stick turning a boar over an open fire. Maybe he goofed off a lot. Maybe he was always in his head and out of this world but he was doing his best. You knew that. He had to know you knew that, right?

“I-”

“You’re right. I need to work harder. I can work harder, I’m serious about this. And I’m going to prove that.” He continues, his slouching against the wall only growing worse, like you were used to, in all the wrong ways as you cringe in on yourself with crippling regret for the doubt you’d instilled in him. Words flooding your mind as you rush for the right thing to say and the right way to say it.

“And I know- I know it’s what my teammates think. I don’t work hard enough, I’m not- I’m not good enough.” He let out the slightest laugh as if what he was saying was even close to being funny.

“Yes, you are.” Like you were squashing a bug, you cut his line of thinking short. This was something that you would nip in the bud, now.

“What?” You feel his shoulder briefly touch yours as he shuffles, perhaps out of nervous energy or shock. The only response you give for a short while is to look at his face. Really look at his face, as you worried your lip with your teeth.

“Yes. You are, Owain.” You repeat finally, not flinching under his sudden gaze as he began to stumble for words.

“But you- You said-” He starts, and you feel your shoulders drop like they’d been grabbed and pushed down, sending ghost pain through your nerves.

“I said it as a joke, but that isn’t an excuse. And I can see that I went too far. Do you really think I would be training with you privately like this if I didn’t think you were worth my time and efforts?”

“Everyone needs to keep up with training. Everyone. Even the heroes I’ve already finished training with still have to go through the tower every few days. You don’t pick up new skills by reaching what you think is your pique and then sitting pretty.” Somehow your speech smooths itself out, and somehow your hand finds its way to the swordsman’s shoulder, squeezing it with what you hoped was a comforting grip.

“You’re a very powerful warrior already. I mean, Gods, you nearly wiped my entire team out when we first met. But you still have things to learn. Everyone does. I want to see you learn, and succeed and thrive. We are in an… incredibly dangerous situation. The battlefield is changing constantly, and what might have worked a month ago, or a week ago isn’t guaranteed to work now. I need to make sure that when I send out my heroes, my friends, that I’m sending them into a battle that they have a chance at winning. This isn’t just my job it’s my responsibility, and I take it very seriously. Does that make sense?” Your fingers lifted themselves from his shoulder as you watched his expression, slow anxiety rising in the pit of your stomach.

It drops and twists, sending your heart jumping into your throat when you see him stand and adjust his armour, flashing you a sheepish smile.

“I understand.” He responds in a tone you’d never heard him take before. So often you’d see him across the way or down the halls telling tales and jumping around like a Shakespearean actor on stage. With complicated words spoken freeform and elegant, and an inherent knack for storytelling that often had you wondering whether he was walking the right path in life. It was this projection and enthusiasm that defined him in your mind. Positive and loud and funny.

But it was here in this moment that he seemed vulnerable, almost. Here you could truly see what kind of man a childhood spent in an apocalyptic world made. He spoke softly, and sincerely. Calmly and in a way you never thought him capable. It was… It was really nice, honestly. And true self, or simply a more serious mask put on for your sake, you thought it was something wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

“I need to get stronger, I know that.” It was strange, considering but you had to fight back a small laugh at that. You’d heard that phrase hundreds of times in hundreds of ways, especially from Lucina and Lissa and Chrom. You supposed it was this drive and dedication that showed their familial relations more than anything. And the same went for their issues with self-doubt.

Rising to your feet seems to take an age, but when you do you find yourself standing by him, your hand finding its way to his shoulder again briefly, before nervously pulling back.

“You’re already pretty damn strong.” You quipped, taking a poke at his chest. A venture for which you are not left unpunished, as your finger nearly bends against the strength of his muscles. Good lord, sir.

“I don’t yet look the part of a true hero.” He argues with a cough, clearing up his throat. You notice those same speech patterns coming into play a let out a snort, rolling your eyes maybee a little bit too dramatically. Owain had this effect on people. Well- on you at least.

“Oh-says the male model.” You tease, relishing the sudden return of blooming red on his cheeks. It’s embarrassing that you let something like that slip at all, but in all honesty, you’re too distracted by his flustered state to mind. You give Owain no time to react, placing a hand on his back as with a quick shove, you usher him back toward the ring.

“So now that you’re done doubting yourself over flaws you don’t have, and worrying that you won’t be the super cool hero I know you can be, we should get back to training.” It’s strange how warm you suddenly feel. How you realize simply how aware of his proximity to you is at all times. Even how you focus on how his muscles tense and move as you put your strength into pushing the man back into the ring that’s fire had moulded many a legendary hero in your time.

“I-I feel like we should talk about what you just- !” Whatever proposal that would have left you a mortified mess he tried to offer was cut short as his feet stepping back into the section caught the attention of the training soldiers. More

“I don’t! Training time!” You say, giving him a hard slap on the back before giving the (rather needless) signal for the next enemies to prepare, thanking whatever powers sent you to this realm that you had an army on call and ready for you to misuse in case of another sudden and utterly self-created, embarrassing situation.


	7. Cultural Differences (Ephraim x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of Ephraim stems from his inclusion in FEH and from reading through his Wikipedia page and support convos, so I’m so sorry if I get anything wrong. Also sorry for the out of season Christmas fic, I read his lines and got instant inspo for a request.

“Lose a battle, lose your life.” Being in a war, it wasn’t the first time you’d heard words like these. You’d summoned heroes from every corner of the universe, and far beyond. People who’d paved and walked the darkest paths of life. You’d heard much worse. Much bloodier, even.

But there was simply something so visceral about hearing the words come from a man dressed in the red and white garb of Santa Claus, holding a ribboned spear in his hands.

And something even worse, upon the realization that this joyfully dressed man was none other than your significant other.

“This is- This is a Christmas celebration.” You stutter your words to Ephraim. Whatever task that had brought you down this particular castle hall all but vanished from your occupied mind. The teal haired lord seemed to light up at your appearance, eyes glistening like a puppy witnessing the return of a family member. But you’re too engrossed with his dark words to take any notice. Not even taking in the movement past you as his conversation partner slipped away upon the sight of your wide-eyed, slightly horrified expression.

Ephraim had been with you here in Askr for a long while. He was one of the first truly talented individuals to join your now massive army. He’d been here long enough that he was easily one of the first people here you could honestly call a friend. About just as long as you had held feelings for him, and he for you. Something you note, with an internal sigh, that he was quick to make clear not a month or so into knowing him.

Brash and headstrong, you’d had your hesitations when first considering him as a boyfriend. But all those doubts had been long since quelled, overtaken by the sheer care, passion and attention he was always so happy to pay you. The protection and shelter his body and words offered.

But coming from different realms carried its own issues. Cultural differences were many and ranged in great variations from the smallest thing like the intention of words, to full-on misinterpretations.

Nevertheless, it was hard to construe his words as anything other than… that.

“No, dear Summoner. This is the Winters Festival. A competition.” He corrects you with a confidence bordering on arrogance, that would have sounded condescending to most others. You were lucky enough to know he meant absolutely nothing by it. And it was difficult to feel indignant about his tone, considering what he was wearing.

“I know, dear, but that’s hardly in the holiday spirit is it?” You ask sincerely, taking a glance down the hall before returning your gaze to his face. Well- his hat. At this statement, he tilts his head and blinks like he’s taking in your point slower than he was processing it. When he finally responds, his words knock the breath from your body.

“You don’t battle for glory during this ‘Christmas?’ celebration.” His brow furrows, genuinely surprised at your statement as your face blanched, looking him up and down.

“I…” You begin, stunned into a half silence. Drawing your hands up in a prayer-like motion in front of your lips, your eyes narrow a bit. Like you were calling out to some unhearing God. Like the truth in the pressure of your fingers pressing against one another would make this weird, odd situation any more realistic.

“Ephraim, are you asking me if we kill people on Christmas?” The pause before his speech is nearly enough to kill you where you stand. His beautiful features pulling into a smile and the tension slips from your shoulders when he laughs.

“Of course not!” He says, with a shaking head and jingling hat, in awe of how ridiculous of a suggestion that was.

“I refer only to friendly gladiator-like battles, Summoner.” Again you blink, eyes scanning around the empty hall in a desperate search for anyone you could grab for physical support. But you ’re completely alone.

“No.” You say, staring at him with dead eyes and a decisive shake of your head as you moved your hands, still pressed together, downwards in a cutting motion for effect.

“No, my love, we do not do that.” The words come deep from within, blowing the last of your breath out of you in a heavy sigh that takes up half of your lung power. Ephraim, unphased by what was simply a normal tradition, watched you with his head cocked like a curious bird. Or a confused puppy.

“Then what do you do?” He asks as you suck a breath of air in through your teeth.

“Normal things, Ephraim!” You say, knowing fully well that normal for you didn’t mean normal for him.

“Normal family and friend things! Like giving gifts and eating lots of food and kissing under the mistletoe!” At that final point, his eyes light up.

“If that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind trying out a few of your traditions.” Like lightning your hand whips out, quicking whapping at his shoulder.

“No. No, you do not get to flirt with me after talking about some holiday-war-fantasy.” You scold him through clenched teeth, holding back a snort of laughter at the pure absurdity of the situation.

“You’re laughing.” He says, taking a step closer as you bite your lip and grit your teeth harder, shaking your head. It’s in complete and utter vain though, he knows your nature too well. A bright and un-dimmable smile appearing on his own features.

“And you’re a demon. And a distraction, I’m supposed to be delivering these reports to Alfonse.” Shaking the papers in your hands wildly, you watch his eyes travel there, then back to your face.

“Oh? Then I can accompany you.” He says, more a statement than a question. You feel your eyes nearly roll out of your head. Ephraim? At a meeting? For battle planning? No way you were giving him a situation where he could run into a fight as he loved so very much to do. No way were you about to give him an opportunity to die in ‘glorious battle’ wearing that.

“I couldn’t pull you away from your occupation of being the corridors resident edgelord.” You say with a shrug, patting his cheek with an extended hand, only to flick one of the bells hanging off him with a soft snort. With a half smile, the prince gave you a confused but affection filled look.

“And I’m sure that insult would be a hundred times more cutting if I understood what it meant.” He said, earning himself a grin on your end as you began to make your escape.

“Oh absolutely. Now, while you go starting fights and terrorizing children like some teal-haired Krampus, I’m going to get on with my job.” With your speech emphasized by a point at his nose that sent him cross-eyed to a thumb to your own chest, you began to walk backwards, giving him a nod in farewell.

“Then I’ll see you later on today?” He calls, and you take one moment to look back at your stupidly costumed, stupidly cute boyfriend before whipping your head back to look in front of you, an uncontrollable grin spread across your face.

“Maybe!” You call back with a half smile, turning the corner with raised spirits, and a growing heat on your cheeks.


	8. Preparation (Alfonse x Reader)

Alfonse was never one to throw himself into conflict without preparing first

Give him a sword, and he could swing it. A map and he could pinpoint the choke points and areas that were tactically advantageous. He could fight, he could plan and with enough work, he was sure one day he could rule.

But never, ever in his life, had he ever done anything that could prepare him for something as daunting, draining and stressful, as parenthood.

“Alfonse…” You murmured his name with words soaked with exhaustion. He blinks awake, body surrounded by soft pillows, fluffy blankets and a warm body, with its face tucked firmly into the crook of his neck. Your gentle breathing and slight groan send air to flutter his hair, the hot sweat on his brow more noticeable with the cool feeling.

He was already awake, far before your dulcet tones had caught his attention. How could he not be, considering the ear-splitting, harpy-like cries that had pierced his eardrums not 20 seconds prior, interrupting his sleep for the 3rd time that night.

Staring at the ceiling with stinging eyes and ringing ears as you jostled his arm, he knew what he needed to do. With great reluctance he pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes as a lazy gaze around the room quickly located the source of the crying.

Not the varnished, tome filled bookcases that lined one of the four walls of your shared bedroom. Not the billowing, white silk curtains which blew a nippy mountain breeze in through the open balcony door. Not the hard wooden desk in the corner, or it’s soft, red fabric chair. No, the shrill screams that had shattered the will of the Askran Prince and his Summoner, came from the lungs of their very own spawn. Writhing in the cot at the bottom of the king-sized bed.

Wiping his brow with a soft grumble, the prince walked to the cot with a stumble that could only be attributed to that of a sleep-deprived man. Given proper light, and a mirror, he was sure his face would resemble that of an undead. A gaunt visage that brought the sobbing infant he now looked over from tearful wailing to a bright and happy smile.

In the 2 months that you’d both had him, there wasn’t a night he did not scream at the absence of his parents. Countless heroes had offered to look after him, but there wasn’t a single one that could put him to rest, nor stand his incessant screeching.

“Here I am, little one.” Alfonse soothed the baby, reaching down as his little arms reached up, making grabbing motions at his father. Slowly, carefully, Alfonse scooped him up. Holding his head to his chest, rocking his son the way that Alfonse’s mother would when he was the same age. Back when the king and queen didn’t have to worry about bloody fights or mythical battles.

In this way, Alfonse’s son was an issue. Stopping his parents from their life-changing, and life-threatening work. Putting frequent, though short hold on the war that was being ever-fought. It was an unspoken fact, that had grated on much of the army. Grated on Anna, however much the General loved her god-son.

It’s incredible that 2 years ago, he was only just meeting the Summoner. Wide-eyed, nervous and completely out of their depth. He’d made a promise, both to himself and to them to never get close to heroes again. Not after Zacharias. Not when he knew how far the stakes would raise, did he form any more connections with the people who now called this place home.

“Easier said than done…” He sighed, walking with the baby to the open doors, where the wind was blowing in. From here one could see the high mountains that surrounded the castle. The fields, and small townships far below. Even sections of the castle, like the roof of the great hall and foyer, and it’s outside garden which had recently been expanded to host more heroes than before.

“Easier said than done…” He repeated again as he leant against the doorway. It had been all well and good until you’d started getting close to the new heroes yourself. Going from more than their leader, and trainer. Becoming their friend, their confidant. Something that, for all his preaching of isolation, Alfonse found himself getting rapidly jealous of.

Now Alfonse could look back on those times and laugh. When he got in a huff because you’d taken time away to talk with Xander about his siblings or help Robin with remedies or ideas on how to cure her amnesia. When you’d spend hours with groups of heroes in the gardens, telling them story after story of your home, the tight feeling in his chest would grow. Bigger and bigger, until his feelings were undeniable.

2 years ago, you arrived in Askr. In his world, and presumptuously, he had called you Summoner Far before you’d taken that title of your own volition. 1 year ago, he’d bared out his heart and offered you another, close to tears of joy when no less than a week later, he found himself at the altar. Calling yourself his spouse.

“So much for keeping my distance, hm?” He told the gurgling baby with no hint of malice or regret in his voice. The infant only stared up, with bright eyes and a red nose. Giving the prince the clue he needed, so he could finally rest.

“Cold are we?” Alfonse asked as if his child could give any coherent response. The little sneeze was all the prince needed as he hefted the growing boy into one arm, taking great care into quietly shutting and locking the doors.

“All better.” He murmured, already feeling warmer at the absence of the cool air. He took another glance at his baby, watching his little cherubic face move, twitching his eyelids flutter shut as he opened his mouth to reveal pink gums. Without a second thought, Alfonse brought him closer, pressing a kiss to his little red nose.

“Now, bedtime.” The prince ordered softly, turning on his heel as he quietly passed by the cot, moving back to his side of the bed, with the baby still nestled safely in his arms. With great care he settled back into bed, resting his back against the headboard, your head resting near his right thigh, still soundly asleep.

“If my sense of time is right —and it normally is—, I’d say it would have to be close to five in the morning,” Alfonse whispered to his son as he set him on his lap, moving a free hand to quickly coast through your hair lovingly, letting the threads fall around and through his fingers like sand.

“And although I am loathe to admit it, right now, our soldiers need their Summoner more than you or me. And our Summoner needs their sleep. I can’t let you go back to bed only to wake up screaming again. So, what’s say you and I stay up a few hours longer, hm?” Alfonse brokered a deal with him, letting the infant grab his finger in a sort-of shake. The smile on his face was undeniable.

“I love you.” He murmured to the baby, settling into the mattress a little more comfortably as he glanced to the glass door, ready to watch the sunrise.

“I love you too.” You mumbled back into your pillow, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of the restful blessing your husband had just gifted you.


	9. Ramblings (Owain x Reader)

When you first began summoning in Askr, you knew you were lining yourself up for a flurry of strange individuals. From kings and queens of distant, faraway lands to dragon gods and god-chosen warriors, you’d seen your fair share of odd people.

Owain, though? He was simply… another level. Loud and exuberant, going on and on with all kinds of wild stories and unbelievable, endless tangents. He talked like a character from a melodrama. So intent on being a great hero, protector of all and the greatest champion to have ever existed, while seemingly drawing the ire of every other patience thin hero in your army.

You’d only known him a week, but you were completely certain that you’d fallen head over heels for the man.

 

His very presence made your stomach fill with butterflies and warmth, and his attention was something you often sought, were you so lucky to be in his vicinity. Luckier still, when it occurred to you how often he would stop by your room, or the library or the War Room or— really anywhere you were, at least 5 times a day to chat.

It is no surprise to you, that his voice reaches your ears just as you’d taken a pause from a tactics book that Leo had lent you to look over. Mid-cracking your back and rolling your shoulders as you looked around your nook in the vast library, you heard his excited voice, drawing near in time with his footsteps until he was standing by your desk, looking at you with a pair of bright, intelligent eyes. He had barely begun his speech, and you already felt your stomach beginning to bloom with the flutterings of deep affection, the sight enough to bring a smile to your lips and ease your sleepy, stinging eyes.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Hero Champion! Brave Master? No, Brave Champion! Wait, the Daring Hero! Oh, I’ve got it! The Hero Champion! Wait, did I say that one already? The Champion of Daring…Heroes! The Heroic Brave! The Master of Heroes! The—” Though you were loath to interrupt him, his long list of magical, far-fetched names for you is swiftly interrupted as your laughter reached him, unintentionally let into the open air, hanging there with all it’s giddy nature. With him so quiet, you look up from your book, giving him your full and absolute attention as your finger tapped nervously against your mahogany desk.

“You know, you can just use my first name if that’s easier. Or ‘Summoner.’ Tons of people call me that.” Your head tilted to the side as you spoke, watching curiously as his eyes suddenly veered to stare at a nearby shelf, a hand going to rub at the back of his head.

“I know that, and while your first name is as wonderous as you are, would you not prefer a title that’s more befitting of your god-given role?” Throwing a hand forward in your direction in what you assumed was a pose, he waited patiently for your response. A mystic name, huh?

“Uh. Some people call me the 'Divine Summoner” if that helps?“ Actually, you think someone called you that once as a joke. And that the person who said it was Niles, which made it two times more disingenuous. But it was enough for Owain, apparently, as his eyes lit up.

"The Divine Summoner! That’s perfect!” He announced, suddenly gesturing to what you assumed was the sky, but in reality, was the libraries ceiling. That was a pose best left for outside. Maybe on a hill, dramatically, in the rain. Yeah, that sounded cool.

“Awesome!” You laughed, turning your body to face him as your feet pulled up onto your chair. The royals you’d met had always chastised you for the action, but you felt confident enough in Owain’s lack of snootiness to take a minute to relax.

“Oh, was there anything you needed?” Raising your arms you took the moment for a well-needed stretch, listening to the cracking of your joints. Jesus Christ, how long had you been sitting like that?

“Only to bask in your glory, O great one!” Owain announced, politely ignoring the sound of your bones basically breaking. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.

“And, also Alfonse asked me to check that you’d eaten your dinner.” Ah. That checked out.

“I’ve eaten, don’t worry,” You sighed heavily, letting your shoulders slump as you vigourously rubbed the sleep from one eye. “And that’s very sweet of you to say, but seriously. I’m really not so magical and 'divine’.“

"But you are!” He announced, taking a new, ‘powerful’ stance as a bright smile made it’s way to your lips. You knew what was coming and pulled your legs to your chest, watching him with rapt attention and anticipation.

“I mean, no simple mortal could have been summoned here! And you are no mortal person. Nay, your power is unlike that I have ever seen! To be chosen by Naga or some other higher being… that must be it. Someone who shines as bright as you could never have been left ignored by fate! It would have been a crime! Indeed your very divine presence blinds my… uh…” Like a member of a Greek chorus, you watched him crow with pride as he spoke, sending heat to your face and ears as he sang your praise and warmed your heart. You wished you could have listened forever, but his sudden slowing, blinking and hesitation became unnoticeable near the end.

“You good?” You asked with a tilted head, watching as his eyes flickered around the room once more, his outstretched hand lowering a little.

“Oh! Uhm, it’s nothing! I’m just— uh— not so used to not being interrupted, by now?” Confusion seeped into every word of his, and it smothered you in turn.

“Why would I interrupt you?” A small giggle left you in the middle of your words, but to Owain, this seemed to be no laughing matter.

“Because most people find my ramblings annoying?” What? Wait. Hold up.

“What? I could never find you annoying, you’re one of the most fascinating people here!” You exclaimed, moving to place your feet on the ground. Without a second thought you clear some space on the desk, gesturing for him to sit,

 

“And the loudest…” He murmured quietly, earning him a severe frown. How anyone could associate those things with him was beyond you. Well, yes he was loud but annoying? No! God no. Not to you. 

“And the cutest. Also, loud isn’t a bad thing.” You said, watching closely as he went rigid and— Oh, yeah, that was definitely a blush around his ears.

“Cute? Wh— I am not cute! I’m a sworn hero! A chosen saviour! I am not cute!” He whined adorably, the melancholy of seconds previous all but a memory in his mind. Biting your lip you did your best to hold back your laughter, shrugging as he made such a fuss.

“Really? Well, I find you cute,” You explained, heat coursing up your face and neck as he gave you a look. “What? That isn’t a bad thing.” You assured him, eyes flicking back to your work.

“I like cute guys.” You shrugged, now avoiding his gaze. For a second there’s a heavy silence and a jolt in your chest as you worry that you’ve pushed too far. But a stuttering, flustered noise destroyed any of such notion, and sent relief up into your veins.

 

“I, uh— I’ve never been— Nobody has ever really dared be so— uh,” He blundered, waving his hands around and sputtering. Owain was no longer the put together performer you’d grown accustomed to seeing. Not that you didn’t like this side of him either.

“This is also cute,” You said with a grin, waving your hand to gesture to his entire being. “The red cheeks and everything. But that’s not my main point. My main point is that anyone who thinks your ramblings are annoying obviously doesn’t know how to have any fun. And they certainly don’t have any appreciation for theatre or poetry.” As you talked you watched him fall silent and listen. Your awareness of just how close he was, sitting on your desk, eyes transfixed to your face. Taking in your every word with wide eyes, much as you did with him.

“What?” Hardly the Odyssey of answers, but the most realistic you supposed. One that hit you with the force of all the shock he was feeling in the very least as you sighed and reached over, resting one hand on his.

“Owain, I could listen to you talk for hours. You’re like a poet! I used to be big on writing, back in my old world and I’ve never seen someone able to improvise all this gorgeous wording. You set a scene better than ones I’ve read in most books! And you’re so energetic, I could never get bored listening.” Speaking clearly and openly you ran a thumb over the back of his hand, closely watching his expressions as you let your view of him out into the open air. Watching as once again he dove into wordlessness.

“I— I’m not sure— what to, uh—” He started, and a clump of anxiety lodged itself in your throat and chest. Swiftly your hand moved back to your lap, before raising them both up in a surrendering motion.

“I haven’t made you uncomfortable with this, have I? Because if so I am more than happy to leave you alone and—”

“No! No no no no, I just uh— ha. No ones ever really said that— these kinds of thing to me? No one really had the time or the chance back home, so… I guess, uh. To hear it now is just- it’s… nice.” Lunging forward he’d grabbed your hand between his own, holding them gently as he spoke. Your mouth went dry.

No one? No one? That had to be… no. The look in his eyes told you that at least some part of it was true. Or true enough to believe.

True enough to make your heart ache as, in the silence, as you stared at each other, you moved your spare hand to rest atop his, still clasping your hand.

 

“Come here.” You said softly, pulling him gently forward as the blush on his cheeks deepened to a tomato red.

“Excuse me?” He asked with a cracking voice as you smiled, and shuffled over, making room for him beside you on your seat.

“Come, sit down and tell me about yourself. Everything. I don’t even care if you embellish things if you see fit.” You said, still holding hands as he starred between the seat and you, processing everything in the moment.

“Are… you serious?” He sounded almost afraid to hear it, eyes still wide as you smiled again, giving him a nod.

“Yes! Every great orator needs a listener, and I have been told before that I am a very good listener. Now come here, sit.” You pulled him down, and he obliged, sitting so close your shoulders were touching. Another silence ensued, where you both let your hands go, the sudden lack of warmth felt by either party as you cleared your throats, Owain quietly hyping himself up under his breath.

“Okay, um where do I— Yes! Alright, surely you know the myth of the great Owain Dark?” His throat cleared, his eyes steeled and with great admiration, you smiled at the familiar sound of his strong, projecting voice.

“Of course!” You responded enthusiastically, not taking your eyes off of his face or his blush as you played along. “I’ve heard he’s a hero like no other! Unbeatable in battle, and loved by all!”

“Yes— Yes! Uh, well— I shall tell you his tale from the very start! Back 20 years ago…. in the future!” His hands waved wildly, his tone picked up and with your work and worries long forgotten, you laid your head on his shoulder and crossed your arms, listening rapturously and intently to every single word in the tale of Owain Dark.


	10. Cracked Ceramic (Leo x Reader)

It was just a plate of dishes.

The time it would take to complete them would be 10 minutes at the most. Truly, it would take nothing but a mere move of your feet forward, walking two steps to the sink and then putting your hands to action.

But heavy arms hindered your actions, a clouded mind overtaking all logical thoughts or notions. And any move you’d made to try and clear up the remaining dishes was halted with the loud, clattering sound of ceramic smashing on tiled floor.

Your arms curled around your middle as you reeled from the sound, echoing through the almost empty kitchen.

“I messed up again.” You mumbled, staring blankly at the floor. Of course this happened. Whenever you tried to help, this always happened.

“This is hardly the end of the world.” A voice chastised you. Lightly teasing, and slightly gentle. No sooner had it spoken, a hand was laid comfortingly on your arm. And no sooner had you felt that touch, you watched the broken plate lift into the air with some kind of magic, trailing through the air to a nearby bin. You simply curled in on yourself tighter.

“We can buy a new one.” Prince Leo of Nohr said, taking a soft tone that even his most loved of siblings were not privy to hearing.

“We can’t buy a new me.” You mumbled back. Though you were positive most of the heroes you’d brought here wished they could. How many times had you ruined battle plans? Gotten them hurt? You couldn’t call yourself their leader. Their Summoner. You felt like nothing more than a burden.

The hand on your arm tensed at your words. Pausing, as Leo stayed quiet for a few seconds, before turning to look at you.

“Good. I’m for one am completely unsure as to what I would do here without you.” He said simply, wrapping an arm around your waist. Your body was pulled into his, head resting at his shoulder where you found yourself thankful he was armourless. Wearing nothing more than a simple dress shirt and some brown pants.

“Be a better tactician than I?” You murmured back, voice half-muffled as your face pushed further into his warm chest. Your dear partner only let out a soft laugh.

“And be universally hated? No thank you. Most of these heroes want charisma, not a strict leader.” He grumbled. Charisma? He was joking, right?

“Charisma?” The corners of your mouth pulled downwards as you looked up, chin still touching his the soft cotton of his stuff shirt. At some point his other arm had come around to embrace you on your other side, your body now pulled flush against him.

Like this you could see his face, it’s smug half smile at your frustrated puzzlement. His soft blonde hair hanging ever so slightly as he tilted his head down to look at you.

“I fell in love with you for a reason, you know.” He responded proudly, voice hushing near the end. Though it only lasts a second before he’s grinning, your flushing face pushing into his chest once more with a soft, disgruntled noise.

“I can’t even do the dishes…” You bemoaned, his hand rubbing gently against your back as you did your best to block the world out.

“You know I have servants, right? And retainers?” He sighed, before retracting his statement.

“Actually, I think Odin would probably do a worse job than you.” He corrected himself, and through your blubbering, you let out a little laugh. The thought of his ‘Dark Retainer’ attempting to pick up where you left off certainly gave you an amusing image.

“He’d probably name all the plates.” You murmured, pulling your face from his chest once more. Looking up, you found his brow furrowing, a hand moving from your back to rub his forehead.

“I’m getting frustrated simply thinking about it.” He grumbled, earning another laugh from your end. He was the only one who could make you laugh like that, in times like these, when your heart weighed heavy enough to sink your entire body and soul. Without meaning to- Always without truly meaning to, he could make you laugh.

“If you’re already frustrated then I don’t think what I’m about to say will help.” You murmured, slowly rubbing circles on his shirt with an index finger. You heard him hum.

“And what would that be?”

“I think- No, I’m certain that this shirt you’re wearing right now is inside out.” Close to biting your tongue, you watched the face of the young prince of Nohr blanch for one second before he suddenly stepped back and began messing with his clothes.

“What? By the gods- not again! Why didn’t you tell me?!” He groaned, a blush reaching his ears.

“I didn’t notice until now!” You laughed, quickly taking the hand that fussed at his front, before interlacing your fingers. It was far too late in the day to change it, and by now everyone would likely have seen it. He knew that too, as he returned his arm around your waist, resting his chin on your head.

“What a pair we are…” You mumbled, feeling the arm resting on your waist give you a squeeze.

“A pair we’ll stay.” He added, pressing a kiss atop your head.

You weren’t perfect. Most days, you felt you were anything but. But with Leo around, that notion of yourself, and the truly unimportant mistakes you made managed to slip your mind, and give you a notion of peace.

And you wouldn’t have traded that for anything.


End file.
